


Everything in its Proper Place

by Talullah



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 07:15:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2182761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/pseuds/Talullah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A clumsy elf builds a ship. Fortunately he's not so proud as to not ask help from those who can give it. PWP, basically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything in its Proper Place

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to my darling jaiden_s, a.k.a. Kettle, for the lovely beta. *smooch* Any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Written for sildil
> 
> fanfic100 prompt 045: Moon.
> 
> [Disclaimer/Blanket Statement](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Talullah/profile)

**Ithilien, 120 Fourth Age**

"I received your message."

The voice startled Legolas, distracting him from his work for a fraction of a second, time enough for the hammer to slip and brush his finger. Muttering a curse, he turned to meet the intruder.

Círdan stood against the light by the door of his working shed. Despite the lighting and the many years since he had last seen him, Legolas did not have the slightest doubt as to the identity of his unexpected visitor.

"Círdan of the Havens..." Legolas bowed slightly whilst wiping his hands on his work clothes. Making a mental note to discuss with the members of his household the difference between warm hospitality and excessive informality, he approached Círdan with an extended hand. He only hoped that he showed more enthusiasm than he felt.

"I have to say that I am surprised that you have come yourself," Legolas said, trying to sound congenial enough before he delivered the coup. "I hope, however, that you have relinquished the thought that I could be swayed to abandon my carpentry efforts."

If Círdan was surprised or offended by Legolas's deliberate infringement of protocol and the most basic hospitality, he did not showed it. Instead he grinned, took the proffered hand and quipped, "I am fine and the trip was lovely, thank you."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "So? Are you here to help or...?"

Círdan sighed, letting Legolas's hand drop. "I can certainly see why they say too much time spent with men and dwarves has changed your elven nature."

He scratched his chin pensively for a minute before continuing. "Legolas, child, please indulge this old elf in a whim. Let us recapitulate exactly why we agree in disagreeing."

Legolas put his hands to his hips, trying to contain an eye roll with a moderate amount of success.

"It would seem that you believe that you can sail across the enchanted islands and reach Valinor while carrying a mortal in your ship with no direct indication of the Valar that this is possible or wanted..."

"Aye," came Legolas's dry answer.

"And I have explained to you on numerous times why I think you will sink and die."

"And that you refuse to let anyone of your people be part of what you call folly, aye, I have heard that," Legolas cut.

"So you decide to build a ship and sail it on your own? Is that it? Because I have read your missive countless times and I can't still believe my eyes, so I thought my ears should have a chance."

"Listen here, Círdan, with all due respect, you are not the herald for the Valar on Middle-earth. I know this with all certainty: there is a place for Gimli in Valinor. There is place there for others of lesser worth, and I know that we will sail there and land on those shores. I know this." Legolas's vehemence had a hint of madness even to his own ears. He took a deep breath and stood back, trying to sound more reasonable. "The only thing that could sink this ship is a deficient build. I wrote you for help in hope that your stubbornness would concede at least this point - help me build a ship that will stay dry all the way. No one else will go with us, but Gimli will see the white shores."

Círdan sighed again and rested against a bench, softly drumming his fingertips in the worn wood.

"It would seem that you have me trapped, young Legolas." He shook his head. "The same way I cannot send my sailors to sure death, I cannot let you leave these shores on a leaking boat. You know what I think about all this, but, yes, I will help you. I came all the way from the North because I couldn't let anyone else take such a responsibility upon them."

Legolas tried not to grin too much. "Thank you!" Pleased, he nodded, searching for Círdan's eyes, and repeated a mute 'thank you.'

Círdan pressed his lips into a thin line and moved closer to the skeleton of the boat, running his fingers along the white wood, judging its strengths and its flaws. Legolas followed him quietly, waiting for some verdict more explicit than the low ambiguous grumbles Círdan let slip from his throat, but after a careful inspection, he remained silent.

Leaving Legolas by the boat, a puzzled look on his face, Círdan walked to the door and squinted at the sky for a few moments. "She's fine. You have a nice start there, but we have plenty to do. We'll start tomorrow."

A smile flickered on Legolas's lips as he watched the elder elf walk away with his swinging stride of one who has spent more of his lifetime on sea than on sand. Today he had won an important battle in a very long and tiring war with the old elf. Come to think of it, it started to look as if he  
had actually won the war at last. He would sail in a safe ship, fulfilling his heart's deepest desire and showing to his dearest friend the immortal shores neither had ever seen. It had been a profitable day; Legolas closed the shed and headed to his home, to take a bath and dine with his guest.

* * *

After nine painful days of joint work, Legolas regretted having ever thought of asking Círdan for help. Círdan had insisted that they work alone in the ship, which was not a big problem by itself, as Legolas had rarely asked for help before. What Legolas was starting to resent were the laconic orders followed by large periods of silent work, followed by stern nodding, as if nothing Legolas could do would be quite right. There were the sighs, the occasional muttering of mysterious sentences which comported too many 'shes'. It was an inanimate object, for Elbereth's sake. It did not need to be talked to or to be called 'she' at every minute.

To make matters worse, Gimli was away visiting friends and relatives, leaving Legolas to play host each night to a cheerful Círdan who seemed to be oblivious to the fact that his daily behaviour was nothing short of maddening. Círdan talked about everything that came to his mind, energetic as if the day was beginning. Legolas was tired and often angry, but Círdan's drive was irresistible and after a while he found himself laughing and replying with more than monosyllables. Unfortunately, each morning brought back a sullen Círdan who sometimes almost seemed unaware of his presence.

Still, Legolas had to admit that Círdan's complete dedication to the boat was admirable, and that the work had progressed more in those nine days than in the previous two months. He also had to admit that his eyes never tired of Círdan's lean, strong body, such an unexpected find under the loose robes he to which he had been accustomed. Time spent with men and Elves had taught him to appreciate a beard as a complement to manly beauty, thought it was still odd to see Cirdan's, silkier than any man's, but greyer than Gandalf's. So at night, he decided that he would try to be less reluctant in his task of being a pleasant host. They had finished early in the afternoon, since there was glue that had to dry before they could proceed, and so, after a nice bath and a little nap, Legolas went in search of Círdan.

He knocked on his guest's door and was soon answered by a somewhat tousled elf who raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Time for dinner already, young Legolas?"

"Not at all. I thought that you might like to visit our gardens here. You've been working continuously for days now, and, without false modesty, I can tell you that we have proper reason to be proud of what we have done here, especially our gardens."

Círdan contained a yawn, but Legolas did not miss the twitch in his facial muscles. "But if you would prefer to rest I will not impose, of course," he added, reproaching himself for not having thought that such an old elf would probably appreciate some rest, although he certainly seemed to have more energy in him than Legolas or most other elves he had met.

"Jolly good, then," Círdan replied to his surprise. "I will put on something more appropriate and I will meet you downstairs."

When Círdan joined him, they headed for the gardens of Ithilien, Legolas's pride and joy. So many years had passed but his interest in the work they were doing never waned, and Legolas found himself describing every little detail of what had been done and what the meant to do in the future. Círdan listened and they walked. Occasionally he dropped a few questions, but Legolas seemed to be pouring out all the words he had withheld in the silence of the previous days.

"I suppose this carries little interest to you," he said at last after a particularly long monologue.

"Not at all. I am quite enjoying myself, and I rejoice in seeing a young elf like yourself so passionate about his tasks. I suppose you take after your father..."

Legolas snorted. "I suppose... But don't let him hear you say that. He is still... erm... annoyed that I haven't returned to Mirkwood."

"How does he feel about this enterprise of yours," Círdan asked.

Legolas winked. "I don't think it would be appropriate to reproduce his exact words in the presence of a guest."

Círdan chuckled. "Yes, I wouldn't expect another reaction from a caring father."

Before the conversation slipped to the old dispute about the wisdom of Legolas's voyage, Círdan asked, "I suppose I've been an insufferable old fool these days, haven't I?"

"Well..." Legolas hesitated just long enough before they burst into laughter. "I suppose."

Still smiling Círdan nodded. "I think she's coming along fine... but I like to concentrate on my work. You know I was Galdor's master? The poor thing... of all my apprentices I think he was the one who suffered the most... but also the one who learned the most."

"Are you missing home?" Legolas asked. It had long been gossiped in every realm of Middle-earth that Galdor was much more than Círdan's right hand... Legolas had never approached personal matters with Círdan and suddenly he felt that he might have stepped on some invisible line.

"My home is the sea, and this river, lovely as it may be, is not the sea," Círdan replied promptly, dissipating Legolas's unease.

To compensate for his indiscretion, Legolas changed the subject. "We have been out for long. Night is falling... We should be heading back."

"Ah, young elves." Círdan sighed. "I remember a time when an elf was happiest by the starlight."

"You sound like my father."

"Your father is a child too by my time keeping. Now your grandfather, he would tell you a tale or two of those days..." said Círdan wistfully.

"Did you also meet him?"

"Of course, child," came Círdan's prompt answer. "We were even what most would call friends during the siege of Barad-dûr. I always regret..." Círdan's eyes followed a squirrel running towards its nest somewhere in a tree.

Legolas followed his gaze. He had heard his father's version of the events that led his grandfather to his demise, and later on Elrond's, but he was unaware of Círdan's proximity to his grandfather. He would love dearly to hear his story, but it felt wrong to force it out of Círdan... there would be time later on, now that Círdan had opened the door.

He changed the subject once more. "Well, elves of another age wouldn't have too much starlight this evening either. Dusk is still falling and already you can see that we will have a big, bright, yellow moon."

"Oh, I enjoy moonlight too," Círdan laughed. "You will see for yourself how beautiful it is spreading silver on the sea."

"I wouldn't have thought you the romantic type..." As soon as the words left Legolas's mouth he realised that in the isolated glade they had reached, roofed by a deep blue sky filled with a gigantic moon, they looked like something more than a simple joke. He cleared his throat, somewhere between embarrassment and amusement at himself.

Círdan smiled. "I appreciate beauty in all forms... if that makes me a romantic, so be it." It would have been a perfectly good and neutral answer had it not been for the mischievous wink that had been delivered with it.

Legolas smiled and turned to the path on his left. They walked for a few more minutes, the silence now somewhat awkward, until Legolas's stomach grumbled loudly.

"Oh dear, we should really be heading back to the house," Círdan quipped. "I don't want Thranduil to come after me for starving his only child to death."

Legolas laughed, glad that the tension had been eased and they took the shortest path back to the house.

Fortunately, a warm meal awaited them upon their return. Usually Legolas dispensed the formalities of a waiting staff but when he had guests his own household made a point in treating him as a minor lord, since he was too impatient to receive the full princely honours. He was glad that they had made no exception this night.

They ate a simple dinner of braised pheasant with greeneries, with a wine from the vines of Ithilien. The conversation was neutral and pleasant, as in other nights, roaming from the plans Legolas had to perfect their wine making, to the need of finding thick linen for the sails, to the special aroma a fire from olive tree would lend to a house. They took their wine and their desserts of strawberries dowsed in honey and wine and sat by the fire, chatting until the conversation slowly turned to embers and a warm silence settled in. Legolas had started to think that Círdan might be half-way to Irmo's arms when he turned to face him, and rising, he said, "I enjoyed this afternoon, truly. You have done remarkable work here. And this is a wonderful fire too, but I think I will enjoy the pleasures of your gardens once more. The light is glorious tonight and we're too far out in the Spring to need such a lovely fire."

Legolas stared at him, slightly surprised, but before he replied, Círdan added, "Will you join me?"

Legolas nodded and followed Círdan through the gardens. The drowsy feeling of comfort had abandoned him and despite Círdan's assertion he did feel the night chill biting his skin through the fine day clothes. Círdan walked for a long time, slowly, his face turned to the sky as if moon bathing, and Legolas followed him,though less enthusiastically. He started to regret joining once his discomfort and weariness outweighed the pleasure to be harvested in the beauty of the night. They walked as far as the river bank, and to his surprise, Círdan took off his clothes and exposed his amazing body to the night air, not a hint of a goose bump marring his skin. He walked slowly into the water as Legolas watched in awe the silver light making his hair a crown of light. His hand searched the clasps of his tunic but the spell broke when Círdan dove into the water and a tiny splash hit Legolas. The water was too cold, the night was colder even. Legolas leaned against a trunk, watching Círdan's graceful strokes as unbidden thoughts flooded his mind. That Círdan was lovelier than one could think, no matter how odd it was to consider the charms of an elf of such age. That Círdan could have strolled trough the gardens and swam by himself. That nothing was ever without a motive and certainly not with Círdan. That his groin should stop tingling now, before Círdan fully emerged from the water.

His thoughts ceased altogether when Círdan walked toward the riverbank, the water trickling down his silver skin. Legolas knew he was being rude and inconsiderate but he could not divert his eyes from Círdan's groin, from his semi-erect penis. He felt a mix of curiosity and apprehension. A normal elf would have his genitals shrunken by cold water, and a normal guest would not just unclothe and swim in the river, and a normal elf would not stare back at him and grin in that way, under the moonlight. If Legolas did not know better he would say that he was being seduced... that Círdan was using his obvious physical charms and wanted more than mere admiration, which he already had to begin with.

"Was the water nice?" Legolas asked, trying not to sound like the impressionable elfling he had stopped being millennia ago.

"Why don't you come and test it yourself," Círdan replied, placing his hands on his hips. He stood directly in the path from Legolas to the water, and there cold be little mistake to the nature of the invitation. Legolas felt himself harden.

"Didn't you miss the salt?"

"River water has its own charms, but you're right, there is no taste like seawater... though others can be of similar interest..."

Legolas felt Círdan's gaze burning through his clothes, his erection evident. The older elf made him feel somewhat inadequate and unsure. He was a mature elf and a determined and aggressive lover, and yet this hesitation... He walked briskly the three steps that separated him from Círdan, standing so close that his clothes were wetted by Círdan's skin. Círdan closed the remaining inches and took hold of his head, pulling him into a kiss. His hands ran down Legolas's back, pulling their bodies closer until their erections met and they rubbed on each other, one fully clothed and the other fully naked.

"I do believe you are wearing unnecessary garments, my boy," Círdan murmured into Legolas's ear, causing a shiver to run directly to his loins.

They parted as if a jolt had passed through them and they worked on Legolas's clothes, haste and desire running to the same end, a flushed, fully aroused naked Legolas, undulating under Círdan's hands.

Círdan's skin positively burned with a heat Legolas had never felt from another. They said older elves' spirits burned brighter, but their flesh... Legolas could feel the warm drops of water transferring to his skin, Círdan's hot breath burning trails through his body. Even as he pushed his erection against Círdan's, feeling the delicious roughness of pubic hair on tender skin, a pragmatic thought crossed his mind: the riverbank sand would be a nightmare.

As if reading his thoughts, Círdan pulled him slowly to the water. "You won't be cold, I promise," he said. "This will be nothing to one who faced the snows of Caradhras."

And as they entered the water, Círdan's words were true. To Legolas's skin all was warm silk flowing, enveloping, seducing him. Círdan's hands moved slowly as if in a dream, and his own mirrored the same patterns, delighting in the perfection of the offered body. Soon the water reached their chests, competing with nimble fingers for hard nipples. Legolas had his hands and his eyes too full of Círdan to think any further on logistics. He let himself become liquid too, whilst receiving Círdan's hot kisses, griping his hard buttocks even as he pumped into Círdan's hand, sinking his teeth in a hard shoulder, covered by sweet skin. Círdan's hard breathing on his neck, made him want to be closer, the tip of an ear brushing his face, made him want to turn into droplets of water. The night converged to a point where too much was not enough. He grabbed a handful of wet silver hair and took control of the kiss, his hands pulled Círdan so close that he had to remove his hand from between them. Legolas had finally found his ground as he turned Círdan to face the moonlight and rubbed his shaft against his cleft as his arms snaked around the sea elf, one hand rushing to a nipple, the other to the groin. He wanted to make Círdan come in his hand, he wanted to hear him shouting something, some word, understandable or not, obscene or not. And then he wanted to bury himself in the depths to that burning body and lose all sense of self to the moment.

He waited for a second for Círdan's reaction but, instead of telling him off, the older elf pushed back against his groin. Legolas pulled Círdan's hair to expose his neck to is lips, and started kissing as his hands under water moved faster and faster. Círdan rubbed against him so hard that it almost hurt, almost drove him to his end, but he kept fast in his purpose until neck kissing turned into biting, and smooth, even pulls turned into powerful clasping, and his arm was moving almost by itself, and Círdan shouted, then huffed, then moaned, and his hand was sticky and warm and his arms filled with a relaxing body.

He kissed the bite marks, soothing Círdan with his hands, but barely containing himself. A slight push against his hips told him that Círdan was ready. Legolas let his fingers search underwater, until they quickly found a pucker. A finger followed another, barely contained haste sleeked by the water, and not too soon his shaft sliding into Círdan effortlessly, and a happy sigh leaving his lips before he started pushing in a race against himself. Círdan held on to him, his hands clutched to his hips and despite the awkward position, Legolas felt as if he could go deeper and deeper with each thrust, until they became too fast, too erratic to be deep, and Legolas plunged and plunged until the fever left him, and he sagged against Círdan's back, as he slipped from his body.

They parted slowly, without completely stopping to touch each other and headed for the bank. They put on their clothes over sticky wet skin, but instead of walking back to the house, they sat, Legolas on a trunk, Círdan, opposite to him on a rock.

"So what do you think of my hospitality?" Legolas asked at last, jokingly. It had been some too intense, perhaps because of his long abstinence, perhaps because of Círdan's peculiar manner, and he needed to dissipate the tension that still lingered on with some laughter.

Círdan let out a short laugh. "It's lovely, really. Are all your guests thus welcomed?" He reached out a hand and grasped Legolas's extended ankle. "Sorry, that was a terrible joke."

Legolas smiled and waved a hand in dismissal. "I must say that I was somewhat surprised..." he added.

"Why should you be? You are a creature of many charms..." Círdan grinned and winked and for a moment, Legolas though he emanated more youth and will to live than many elves half his age.

"Thank you, I suppose... You won't try to persuade me to stay in Middle-earth with your carnal charms, now will you," he added joculently, though a note of true suspicion lurked in his words.

Laughing heartily, Círdan rose from his rock and sat by Legolas's side, putting an arm around his shoulders. "Stubborn as a mule and suspicious as a... oh well, I'll find something. But right now, I'm going to bed. I have a hard day of work tomorrow, if I want to repay such splendid hospitality..." He rose and extended a hand. "Coming?"

Legolas jumped up and followed with a glint in his eye. He had never known that ship building could become such an interesting occupation.

 

_Finis  
May 2006_


End file.
